


Bungle in the Jungle

by Meskeet, Red_Tigress



Series: The Beta Branch - Round Robins [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clint and Tony centric, Gen, Guest starring the whole team, Jungles are dangerous, No Spoilers, No pairing - Freeform, Round Robin, Tony and Clint have a really bad day, Whump, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meskeet/pseuds/Meskeet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Clint are traipsing through a jungle filled to the brim with mutant cats, mind-scrambling crystals, rope bridges, and man-eating, genetically altered piranhas. What could possibly go wrong? </p><p>A gratutious, light-hearted whump fic where everything that could go wrong, does go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seriously? A Freakin' Mutant Kitty?

**Author's Note:**

> Another Round Robin between the folks of the Beta Branch. This was written by me, Red Tigress, and Alex Kade. I started off the story with the first couple of paragraphs, then another writer added a few more, then another added a little more, and we all bounced back and forth and this story was created. It's different than a collab because we don't share any plans for where the story, so it's unpredictable and as fun as hell.
> 
> It was so long that I had to break it up into three parts. It was waaay longer than I expected an RR bounced between us to be, so I was in for quite the surprise when I complied it in a doc.

Clint missed the old days.

He missed the times back when he'd only get shot at. He missed the days when he didn't have to fill out paperwork about the situations Stark got him into (or left him in) and he missed the days when said paperwork never possessed the phrase, "and then something went horribly wrong."

Of course, "horribly wrong" could refer to a lot of things. In the past, he'd used it to describe a power failure, the White House catching on fire, accidental detonation of a bomb, Stark running out of hair gel... the list went on and on.

This time, the phrase described something a little out of the ordinary.

Or at least, a little more out-of-the-ordinary than even _he_ was used to.

He wasn't exactly sure how he got into these situations. It was probably the fault of the company he kept, but not even Clint could fully blame Tony for this situation.

Come to think of it, maybe he could. It might even get him out of the paperwork.

Of course, that depended on his unlikely survival.

He really needed to stop falling for the whole, "It's gotta be you, Clint. You're the world's greatest marksman. Nobody else can make that shot," phrase. Stark only praised him like that when it meant sending Hawkeye into the worst possible situation ever. And he fell for it _every_ fucking time.

No more. If he got out of this one alive, he was going to shove a big, fat pillow over his ego's ears whenever Tony started in with the praises from now on.

First, though, he needed to figure out how to get out of his predicament. It couldn't be _that_ hard. All he had to do was escape the mutant panther crawling towards him on the remains of an old rope bridge where he dangled upside down from one leg over a seventy foot drop into a raging waterfall full of equally mutant piranhas. No problem. All his arrows had of course fallen from his quiver, and he'd given Stark his last explosive before they parted ways - not that a bomb would really help in his current situation, anyway. Sure, he might blow up the mutant panther - good _god_ that thing was ugly - but the bridge, and consequently him, would go down with it. He had a knife in his boot...the boot with the coil of rope around it that thankfully kept him from plummeting to his certain doom either by impact or psycho fish munching on him like a bucket of fried chicken - probably both, with his luck. That thought didn't appeal to him, either, so he didn't want to risk unwinding the rope enough to get the blade out.

_Come on, Clint, think!_

The cat thing slipped a little on the wobbling bridge and let out a growl...hiss...scream? _Who the hell would_ make _something like that?_

"Easy, kitty," Clint cooed.

Kitty did _not_ take it easy.

* * *

Tony cursed again, swatting a branch out of his way. He, nor his armor for that matter, was not made to traipse through South American jungles. He had only agreed to do this mission in the first place cause it was away from the unfortunate Manhattanites. He would say that since they moved in, property values had decreased dramatically.

But now the bottom of the armor was completely brown, there was mud gumming up his thrusters and he had lost Clint somewhere. He needed him (well, his bow) to take out the supervillain-type defenses that would have blown him out of the sky if he flew in by air. Unfortunately, the place was also guarded by a slew of mutant animals. Tony had been attacked by some sort of giant spider monkey while Clint (like a worthless coward) had bolted into the woods when a panther three times the size of a normal one and with sabertooth fangs and claws that would make Edward Scissorhands proud bolted after him.

Tony had since disposed of the monkey, and was now looking for his hapless teammate.

He ripped another frond out of his way and came upon a a chasm with a rickety rope bridge crossing it. The mutant panther was slowly stalking toward him.

"Oh shit!" he yelped as its eyes locked on him.

"Tony?"

Tony looked down at the bridge, eyes drawn away from the huge cat. "Clint? What are you doing?"

"Oh, you know, just enjoying travel to exotic locations. _Help me, Tony!_ "

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist..."

The mutant panther, unsure about the new threat, crouched slightly, its tail swishing back and forth. It took a step forward and the rope bridge creaked in protest. "Any time now," Clint added sarcastically.

"Okay, genius, think," Tony told himself, and immediately began running through his options...along with the odds of certain doom for both he and his teammate. "Bad idea. Don't think, just act."

With his thrusters currently coated in a _so_ not helpful layer of jungle gunk, and scared to fire at the beast lest he accidentally hit the bridge, he did the only thing he could - he ran to one end of it and swung his arms around wildly.

"Hey, you big, fat, ugly, sorry excuse for a cat! Over here!"

The cat turned its head and let out another of its glass-shattering screams. For a second it appeared to be torn between going for the easy prey dangling helplessly over the falls, or for the one that might be more of a challenge but was at least on solid ground. Clint, in what he hoped wasn't a moment of sheer stupidity brought on by the blood rushing through his head, decided to help the creature make its decision. Holding his breath, he swung his body back and forth slightly, just enough to make the bridge sway unsteadily.

The cat panicked and dug its claws into the rickety boards at its feet, the point of one of the sharp talons ripping partway into another one of the ropes.

"Clint, stop!" Tony yelled.

Barton tensed up his muscles, bringing his swinging to an instant halt. "Did it work?" he asked after a brief hesitation.

The cat regained its footing and pushed off at a run directly towards Tony. Whether it was just for the sake of escaping a potential kitty bath, or the sprint signaled the beginning of a whole cat/mouse thing, Stark wasn't about to find out the hard way.

"It worked!" he hollered, and took off back into the jungle with the cat following behind.

* * *

Clint was left still hanging precariously upside down. "Well, at least that's _one_ less thing I have to worry about."

He was unaware of the partially severed rope as its threads slowly continued to snap one by one.

His oblivious state didn't last long, as the fraying rope caused him to suddenly drop down a few centimeters. It wasn't a whole inch, but instead just enough to make him gasp with surprise.

"Oh shit," he groaned as he took in the view. If he fell, there wouldn't be much for Tony to pick up off the ground. As the rope slipped another half inch, he felt a tentative plan form.

It was quite possibly one of the stupidest ideas he'd come up with, including the time he put Nair in Fury's shampoo bottle.

At least Tony wouldn't be around to watch.

Barton could feel his leg starting to shake with exertion, so if he wanted to fulfill his plan (or rather, get a one-way ticket to certain doom) he knew it was mandatory for him to move quickly.

He almost found himself wishing the mutant kitty was back. It had provided some proper motivation, at least.

Clint took a deep breath and tried to remember what he'd learned years ago.

_Keep weight balanced as steadily as possible. Be aware of appendages at all times - and always have at least one steady grasp on the rope._

Dammit. This wasn't helping. It was just reminding him of what a clusterfuck he was in. He wasn't playing by any of the regular rules he had learned.

Reluctantly, he twisted. He had just a precious few moments before he was swung headfirst into a cliff.

 _Knife._ He hoped the thing hadn't fallen out of his boot by now - he didn't feel the sensation of it pressing into his skin but his circulation was so restricted in his foot, it was getting hard to feel anything.

He'd prefer to get himself out of this situation than rely on Tony, he decided. Maybe that's why he was about to do such a stupid stunt.

Quickly Clint twisted his body, nearly causing the bridge to collapse. By the time he grabbed the rope with two fingers, his foot was numb and his entire body was shaking.

_Not good. That is definitely not good._

Cautiously, Clint looped one hand into the rope. The relief he felt was instant as a few pounds of strain shifted off his foot, but then, just as quickly, some of the feeling started to return to his foot in a flash of pain. "Ow," he muttered. "That's it. I'm getting myself a nice iron suit to show off in. I can walk around, and say things like, 'Look at me, I'm a multimillionaire genius with a clunky iron suit. I have nothing better to do than lure my co-workers into South America and get them chased by mutant furballs."

"Alright, come on Barton," he told himself. "You can do this. Just like the circus. One hand over the-"

The bridge shifted again as a few more strands snapped. Pep talk forgotten, Clint frantically jerked his body, grabbing onto the rope with his free hand.

 _Bad idea,_ he realized. His sudden movement had caused part of the rope to snap.

"Shit," he said as he felt himself drop.

He knew that there would be a hearty yank as the rope's tension caught, and if rope didn't snap entirely, he'd probably become a Hawkeye-smudge on the rocks the bridge had been hanging off of when he swung toward the rockface.

This was going to hurt.

* * *

"I hate you, Clint," Tony spat out as he ran. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate-"

Something hit him from behind, sending him sprawling into the muck and getting yet more mud stuck in places where it just didn't belong in the joints of his suit. He let out a little yelp as the something latched onto his leg and started dragging him backwards through the foliage.

 _Something?_ It wasn't a _something_. It was a big fucking dinosaur-cat-toxic waste project gone wrong.

Tony flipped his body over, bringing his free leg across his captured one to kick the beastie in the face. It growled like fucking Cujo and narrowed its glowing yellow eyes at him.

"This...isn't going to be good," Stark mumbled right before the cat swung its head around, letting him go and sending him straight into a tree. He barely had time to shake off the dizziness before his arm was grabbed this time, and he once again found himself being dragged across the ground like a sack of manure.

"Well this is degrading," he muttered, keeping himself fairly relaxed for the time being while he recuperated from his impact with the tree. At least the cat hadn't just decided to eat him right off the bat. It gave him a little time to get his head back on straight before he started in on what would probably be a painful fight to rid himself of his new feline...ish...friend.

"Clint, I swear to god if you're not dead when I get out of this mess, I am going to kill you myself."

He sent a little juice down into his free hand and hoped the sludge hadn't effected his weapons system too badly. With really only one way to find out, he raised his palm towards the cat's head and fired.

"I _really_ hate you, Clint," he murmured once again.

* * *

"I really hate you, Tony," Clint gasped as he felt the sudden tension as the rope ran out of slack. His arm dissolved into an appendage no longer made up of skin and bone, but pain and relative agony. He could feel his foot snap, and considered himself lucky that his arm didn't break as well. "I'm never listening to you again," he gasped as he clung frantically to the rope. Falling into the water and getting eaten by the mutant piranhas would probably be the perfect end to his horrible day. "Next time, just find yourself another damn archer. 'You're the only one we have.' By the end of this, you going to need to find another one, because this whole situation is your damn fault."

Clint could feel the momentum of the broken rope. It was gathering in velocity as the fragile threads propelled himself to the rock face. _Not good,_ he thought distantly as he saw the rocks approaching.

His bad day was about to get worse.

Hawkeye-pancake, or fish food.

He really didn't have much of a choice, all things considered. With his unmangled left arm, Clint scrambled for his knife and yanked it out. "Shit shit shit, not good, not good, _not good_!" he gasped as he sawed at the rope. The tie around his ankle slipped, and he felt his body swing free.

He didn't think it was possible, but the pain in his arm increased. It was the only thing holding him up now. Slowly, _painfully_ he sawed on the rope holding onto his arm. The rope gave after just a few moments, weakened by age and disrepair.

Then he was falling in a move worthy of the cheesiest Indiana Jones movie.

He was going to hit. If the rocks didn't get him, the genetically altered piranhas probably would. Clint Barton, death by waterfall. Tony would probably survive this jungle just to laugh at the obituary Hawkeye was going to get.

Clint yet out a yell of part adrenaline, part terror as he plummeted.

The one time he'd actually appreciate it if Tony was nearby, the Iron Man was nowhere in sight. If Tony appeared, he might even take the snarky comments with good grace.

Or maybe he wouldn't. It was Tony's fault he was in this mess after all.

* * *

Tony left the remains of the panther's head behind him as he ran off back in the direction of the bridge. To any onlookers, the sight of a muddy red and gold robot splattered with mutant panther brains booking it through the jungle was either something hilarious, or a horrifying nightmare. How did the guy get himself irreversibly trapped in a seventeenth century death trap, anyway? The archer was more accident prone than _him_ sometimes and there had been definite phases in Tony's life when he had been inviting it.

He burst again through the edge of the tree line.

"Clint! Clint! Good news!" He paused for a moment, seeing the remains of the rope bridge, before he heard a scream.

Before he could think about it, he ended up jumping off the edge of the ravine.

Then he remembered his thrusters may not have been entirely functional.

He hated Clint Barton so much right now.

It took only seconds before Iron Man's metal shell was dropping faster than a rock, and he activated his thrusters to catch up with the falling form of Clint. If this didn't work out, it wouldn't look like they had just fallen and become pancakes, it would look like someone had pulled their insides out of their mouths and THEN made them pancakes.

Tony's heart stopped as his thrusters sputtered and his HUD flashed red, before he felt the familiar and comforting push against his feet of his thrusters working and his HUD flashed back to blue. _"Sir, the thrusters have been compro-"_

"LATER!" he shouted at the robot. This was too much pressure. Luckily, he had programmed Jarvis to know when to shut the fuck up and let him work.

He shouted as the adrenaline pulsed through his body before extending his arms and hooking Clint around the waist. He turned upside-down and there was a deafening screech as his back plates scraped along the rocky outcroppings of the river before he angled himself so they were shooting upwards again.

"YOU OWE ME EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF YOUR GOD GIVEN _LIFE_!" he shouted at Clint right before his thrusters cut out.

"We're falling," Clint ground out between clenched teeth. "Tony, why are we _falling_?"

"Shut up!" Tony shouted. "Thrusters on...come on, thrusters on...on... _on_!"

They slid down to just above the surface of the river below when the mechanics kicked in again, pushing them up just in time to save them from a watery, piranha-infested death. Not wanting to go all the way back up in case the suit malfunctioned again, Stark stayed fairly low and paralleled the chasm wall until he found a solid piece of land large enough to be considered something of a shoreline. With a disgruntled huff, he let go of Clint and watched him fall heavily to the ground, after which he looked down to see one of the mutant fish latched onto his armored foot.

"Shit!" he yelled, and yanked the little bastard off his boot. It immediately tried to grab onto his arm, which Tony dodged and clumsily chucked the thing back into the water. Checking over the total damage done to his suit, he let out his frustration on the archer. "Three! That is THREE times I've been in the mouth of some grotesque...animal...beast... _monster_! And TWO of those I could've avoided if I wasn't saving your sorry a-"

"Thanks, Tony," Barton panted.

Stark whipped around and pointed at the object of his anger. " _Don't_ give me that tone- Wait. What?"

Clint stayed curled on his side, keeping one arm hugged closely to his chest, and blowing heavy breaths into the sand he had his face pressed into. His eyes were clamped shut. "I said...thanks..."

Tony sighed and knelt down over his friend. "Great. Well now I have to feel like an asshole on top of being pissed. You hurt yourself, didn't you?"

"Little...bit," Clint hissed.

"Jarvis, do a scan." Tony whistled and shook his head in pity. "Badly dislocated shoulder, and you broke your leg right above your ankle."

Barton opened his eyes enough to glare at Stark. "I could've told you that...myself."

"Well, now who's Mister Grumpy Pants? Come on, sit up. I can at least reduce the shoulder. You'll feel better after that."

"Ugh, this is gonna suck," Clint moaned as Tony helped him into an upright position.

"Yup," Stark agreed, and twisted on Barton's arm without giving him any sort of warning.

Clint screamed, and promptly passed out.

"Oh, good, that's convenient," Tony said jovially. "Now you won't feel it when I set your leg."

He patted his friend on the good shoulder and looked around for something to use as a decent splint, trying not to think too much on how the hell they were going to get out of the bottom of a ravine in the middle of a jungle full of mutant animals with Clint running on half his total limbs and Tony's suit on the fritz. _One problem at a time..._

One thing Tony would say about being a superhero, is that you never had enough fabric when you needed it. He took off his helmet first, shaking out his hair which had become plastered with sweat thanks to how _extremely_ stressful the past half hour had been for him. He tossed the helmet aside for the time being, and then took off his gauntlets, now covered in mud, and did the same thing. He leaned down next to Clint's good leg, undid both of his boots, and tore off his pant leg below the knee. Clint groaned slightly at the jostling but remained still.

"Stop being a pussy," Tony admonished.

He ripped the cloth into a few thinner strips before moving over to the tree line where he found some sturdy branches about eight centimeters in diameter. He snapped them over his knee before moving back over to Clint's bad leg. He then knelt down so that his knees were facing Clint's feet, and leaned forward putting one hand on Clint's upper thigh and gripping his heel with the other. Tony sighed. "This is gonna suck for you. But you have no one to blame but yourself." He looked at Clint's face, but the archer showed no signs of answering. Tony exhaled slowly again. "I really hate you." He pulled.

Clint jerked visibly and moaned, but Tony ignored him as he placed the sticks on either side of his heel, adjusting them so they extended past his knee. Once that was done, he wrapped the thin strips of cloth around them to hold them in place. Tony looked around again, before a glint of something caught his eye. He got up and moved over to the bank, where he found Clint's knife and picked it up. He moved back to the archer and dropped to the ground with a heavy crash.

Since the gauntlets were off, he had clear access to his neoprene suit he wore underneath the at his elbow, he made a few cuts, (hissing and cursing whenever he missed), and tore the sleeves off. He did the same to the other arm, even though when he was done he looked like he had lost some fight with an animal. Which technically, he already had.

He balled up one of the sleeves and stuffed it under Clint's bad foot, tying the other around the bottom in an impromptu fabric boot that would keep his foot from rotating side to side. "I hope you appreciate this," he muttered, letting himself fall backwards into the smooth stones around the bank. "The mission has been a complete failure. They're going to send in Natasha, I'm sure of it. She'll be done in five minutes. You and I will get benched. Well, probably not me, since I _am_ a genius. This whole initiative would fall apart without me, you know." He looked over at Clint's still form, before looking wistfully at the abandoned quiver a few feet away. "God, I wish you carried cigarettes in that thing."

* * *

_Fuck,_ Clint thought as he felt himself begin to awaken once again. It was a little hard to piece together the events that caused him to pass out and awaken on what seemed to be an extremely hard bed.

He remembered Tony's hands all over him and the sensation of falling. There was a niggling sensation that this was all Tony's fault.

Shit. Tony had dangled him out a window again, hadn't he?

"God, I wished you carried cigarettes in that thing," Tony's voice reached him as he stirred.

"Who says I don't?" Clint mumbled as he opened his eyes.

The events were gradually beginning to fall into place - angry pussycat, a rope bridge _definitely_ not approved by a safety inspector - and the heart-stopping fall.

Tony catching him.

 _Shit._ Tony would _never_ let him live down his yell - not a scream, a _yell_ \- of shock (not terror, he told himself firmly).

No wonder his arm hurt like a bitch, Clint realized. He could deal with the broken leg, but his shoulder...

Shit, he needed that shoulder. An archer couldn't survive without fully functional limbs.

He really didn't want to think about his shoulder, but the appendage didn't seem to want to be forgotten. It felt like someone had inserted a small ball of fire in his back.

" _I_ say so," Tony snapped back after a pause. "Don't you know how to stay unconscious like a normal person?"

For once, Clint agreed with Tony. Unconscious was good. Unconscious was pain-free.

Unconscious was about the furthest thing from his current state at the moment.

"You're one to... talk about being normal," Clint's voice was strained and uneven, mangled by pain.

"Genius, remember?" Tony's trademark smirk flashed Clint's way, even if it didn't seem as wholeheartedly meant as it usually was. "I think I'm more qualified to make the decisions here."

Clint was well aware of Tony's intelligence level from the man's point of view, thank you very much.

"So," Clint began, his voice cracking slightly. He had the distinct recollection of Tony calling him a pussy come to mind and he did his best to even his tone. "Mr. Genius-Tony-Stark, you have a plan to get our asses out of here?" His voice did _not_ waver.

There was a pause. Clint knew that whatever Tony was about to say, he wasn't going to like.

Clint shifted his weight slightly. His lower leg gave him a blinding burst of pain, making him instinctively try to brace himself against the ground. It was a stupid move - his shoulder instantly gave a yelp, no, more like a _screaming howl_ of protest.

A slight, involuntary whimper crossed his lips.

Of course, their luck being what it was, Clint should have laid money on what was about to happen.

It was to be expected after all. It was almost obligatory for everything that could possibly go wrong _to_ go wrong when it was him and Tony on assignment together. If they got out of this alive, he was putting in an official request to never be teamed up with Iron Man again. Ever.

He thought that over for a second. How many things had he already put on the list of _if I get out of this alive..._ already today? It had to be some sort of record, he was sure, even for them.

"Clint, you need to get up," Tony said, his tone casual, the message behind it screaming _right the fuck now._

He heard something splash in the water and knew it couldn't be good. What was it this time? Probably fucking Godzilla if the rest of this day served as any sort of clue.

"Clint... _now_ would be a good time..."

A hand was pulling at his good arm, forcing him upright. A regular hand. Where the hell were Tony's gauntlets and why the fuck wasn't he using them to blast The Creature from the Black Lagoon back where it belonged? Or maybe it wasn't really that bad. Maybe whatever was making all that noise splashing around was just a stupid beaver, or a furry little otter, or maybe just a freakishly big, but perfectly harmless frog. He'd take a look for himself in order to determine the threat level, but for some reason he seemed to have been struck completely blind at the moment.

"No, no, no, Clint, open your eyes. Don't be a normal person. You gotta stay conscious, buddy. We need to move."

 _Goddamn it, Tony!_ He was just starting to feel painless again, too. Now the burn in his leg and shoulder was back with a vengeance, and Stark wanted him to run?

"Gonna shoot you when we get out of this," he grunted, adding that one to the list, too. In fact, he was putting that at the top of the list. In big, red, bold letters.

**SHOOT TONY STARK.**

Yeah, that was worth the effort to get out this shithole alive.

"GODDAMN IT, CLINT, GET UP!" Tony shouted, pulling the half-conscious man's arm around his shoulder. The move jostled Clint's leg and he moaned, touching his chin to his chest.

"W'at's the point..." he slurred "of 'avin' armor if you're...always takin' it off..."

"Good question! And I'll be happy to discuss the fine details later, if you'd be so inclined," Tony couldn't keep the panic out of his voice now. Standing in the water stalking towards, and seemingly _oblivious_ to the piranhas (much to Tony's amazement and rage), was another mutant cat. A spotted one, this time. The -leopard? Jaguar? Spotted panther? Ocelot?- _thing_ had much longer teeth than the last one. But it still had those claws. "What the hell are they _doing_ to the wildlife in this country? Does PETA know about this, you think?"

Clint finally looked up then, eyes widening. Without realizing it, he put a hand on Tony's chest plate, trying to grip it. "I will love you forever if you get us out of here right now."

"Um, see, the thing is...I can't really...I mean..." Tony reached down to the leg that wasn't supporting Clint. "Close your eyes," he said, before he released the flares from the remaining parts of his suit.

The cat screamed as the lighted flares assaulted its vision and its face, and Tony quickly dragged Clint into the jungle.

The cat was gaining speed, and Tony was losing it.

"I could use...a little help, here," he panted as he half-carried Clint along.

"I'm... _trying_...ass," Barton ground out.

The cat was right behind them now, so close that they could hear its breaths coming out in what was almost a rumbling purr. They were aware of the sound of its feet padding down onto the soft earth, followed by a sudden silence as the creature leaped off the ground. That was going to be it for them, they knew it, but they surged ahead with what little desperate, life-saving adrenaline they had left.

And then they were falling.

Again.

* * *

The blanket of leaves and branches had given way below their feet, dumping them down into the bottom of a dark pit. They both hit with a _thud_ , barely aware of the screech of the cat thing above as it sailed passed the hole and barely latched onto the other side, its legs kicking more dirt down on their heads as it scrambled back up to safety. It hissed in frustration at the loss of its prey, but thankfully didn't seem interested in going down into the pit after them. With a flick of its tail, it turned and left them to die down there on their own.

Tony moaned as he sat up, cradling the arm that his body, and all its armor, had landed square on top of. He looked over at Clint and his heart skipped a beat as he realized the archer was laying on his back, perfectly still, his eyes staring up at nothing.

"Clint? Clint, buddy? You in there?" He stood on shaky legs and barely made it over to Barton's side before just letting himself fall heavily to the ground. For a second he just looked at his friend, afraid to reach out to confirm what the vacant eyes were already telling him.

"You're not dead," he decided. "Because I will _not_ become the crazy guy stuck in a hole talking to a corpse. _Snap out of it!_ " He raised his good fist in preparation to bring it down on Barton's chest, but stopped last second as a small smile pulled at the corners of the archer's mouth. Clint coughed once, drew in a deep, gasping breath of air, and proceeded to either choke, laugh, or cry for several long seconds. Tony couldn't quite decipher which one.

"Wanna clue me in on the joke?" he asked.

Barton kept cry-laughing, his eyes squeezing shut as tears rolled unchecked down his face.

Tony sighed and sat back with a slouch in his shoulders. "Great. Fantastic. Instead of being the crazy guy stuck in a hole talking to a corpse, I'm the sane guy stuck in a hole talking to a man who had _clearly_ lost his mind. This day just keeps getting better and better."

Clint laughed even harder at that.

"Shut up," Tony mumbled.

* * *

Hours later, with what little sunlight that had made it down to the bottom of their pit disappearing as the day passed, Tony sighed and nudged Barton with his foot. He was rewarded with nothing more than a slight groan. Clint had pretty much stayed quiet since his insanely long, crazy-man giggle fit had ended with him puking on himself. He had turned his head, tried to roll over in time, but that was the extent of movement the added pain from the fall had allowed him. Tony took pity on the man and, despite his own screaming arm, had done his best to at least drag Barton away from the mess and help get the outer layer of armor off. They were both pretty much done after that, falling into a pained and exhausted sleep. Actually, it was probably more like off and on unconsciousness, but nobody really needed to know that.

Now Tony was awake. Awake and bored. And his arm hurt. He really needed to find something to try to splint it with...

Taking a second to check on Barton, he frowned as his core reactor shone light on Clint's face, revealing the slightest flush in the archer's cheeks. Tony felt his skin, taking note of the slight elevation in temperature. It wasn't too bad, just a low grade fever that he mentally ordered not to cause any more problems for them. They didn't need that on top of everything else from this mission-straight-out-of-a-campy-action-comedy-film. This whole day had been one big catastrophe, and damned if his night was going to be spent trying to tend to an injured, sick Hawkeye with only one arm.

Arm. Right. He needed to take care of that.

Coming slowly to his feet, he began to really pace the circumference of the hole for the first time since they'd landed in it, not only looking for good splint material but also to see if he could spot anyplace that might make for a good climb out. All he needed was one wall of the pit to be nicely slanted, with enough hand and footholds to clamber up with one good arm each, and sturdy enough to withstand the fact that Clint would have to literally hop from one to the next. It could happen.

Tony sighed as he continued around the circle, stopping when he came across a sad little bush that somehow managed to grow at the bottom of their dungeon. Intending to break some branches off it to use for his arm, Stark smiled in surprise when pulling on the plant revealed a little tunnel behind it. A tunnel where there was definitely air flowing through, and upon crawling in just a little ways to investigate, he picked up the sound of water flowing through the rocks somewhere up ahead.

"Huh. Maybe the universe isn't out to kill us, after all," he said, and carefully made his way back to where he had left Clint.

First things first, fix arm. Second, wake Barton's useless ass up. They were getting out of that fucking hole.

* * *

Clint flinched as he felt something slap his cheek. "Wake up, I need your help with this."

 _God damn it._ "Fuck off, Tony," he mumbled.

"Hey, that's no way to talk to someone who pulled you out of your own puke," Tony said sourly.

 _Wait, what?_ Clint opened his eyes, blinking warily at the glow from Tony's chest illuminating their otherwise dark surroundings. He felt sick, and his leg was throbbing steadily with pain.

Oh yeah, they were in a hole.

Clint had a vague recollection of laughing his ass off when they fell down it, though he wasn't really sure why. He peered up at Tony. Tony was holding one arm protectively against his chest, trying to hold a lopsided stick in place on it with his good hand. "Will you stop staring and find something to tie this off with?" Clint felt around for his discarded armor, following the distinct smell of vomit. Holding his breath, he tore some of the cloth away from the Kevlar padding underneath.

"Nice," Tony grumbled sarcastically.

"Look, it's all we have," Clint said. Still lying on his side, he motioned Tony other. "Come down here, I can't stand."

"Which is completely your fault."

Clint pulled Tony's arm away from his body a little harsher than he had meant to, making the other man grunt in pain. "This is _your_ fault," he mumbled. "I'm never going anywhere with you ever again, unless I have at least _three_ people as backup, one of which has to be Nick Fury." He straightened the stick out and began wrapping the cloth around Tony's arm who let out a few breaths between clenched teeth.

"Hey, I've been saying from the beginning, I do better alone. But it's good you...hey, watch it! It's good you had me here because I found an exit."

"What?" Clint looked suspiciously at the other man, ready to believe the Tony's intense narcissism led him to assume he had thought up a terrible plan that would kill both of them.

"An exit." Tony gestured with his good hand. "Over there."

Clint squinted, and it took him a few moments to see the tunnel. "Where does it go?" he asked suspiciously.

"How the hell should I know, they don't make blueprints of THE JUNGLE. But it at least leads to water, and air. So," Tony hefted his newly-splinted arm in appreciation. "Let's go."

"Wait, we're not going there in the dark."

"Baby, it's never dark with me around." Tony tapped his chest plate.

"I have a broken leg and you have a broken arm, and you expect us to crawl down there."

"...I didn't say it wouldn't be painful."


	2. Close Shave in the Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clint and Tony get lost, big spiders attack, and Clint forgets rule number one: Never play with shiny objects, they just might turn your brain to mush.

'Painful' didn't even come close.

"Will you slow down?" Clint snapped over his shoulder. He had stopped to take a breath and turned to see that Tony had gotten well ahead, taking his damn built-in flashlight with him. A slew of curse words not fit for even the most evil of super villains escaped his lips as he began his awkward shuffle-scoot down the tunnel again. Crawling for Tony hadn't been too bad. All he had to do was keep his busted arm tucked against him while he balanced on the other three limbs, scrambling happily along like a dog oblivious to the fact that he only had three legs. It had taken Clint several tries to even figure out how he was going to be able to make any progress in the "go forward" department at all. He had _two_ limbs compromised, after all. And, of course, both were on the same fucking side of his body.

The first attempt had been to crawl much like Tony, keeping his right arm up so as not to put pressure on his shoulder. He was hoping that since the break was further down above his ankle, he might still be able to put weight on the knee. The result of the attempt wound up with him falling to his side, rolling onto the very shoulder he was trying so hard to protect. Bad move. On the second attempt he figured maybe if he was just careful of _how_ he moved his arm, he could still use it while keeping the injured leg weight-free. He ended up pretty much falling on his face. Try number three found him leaning himself up against the tunnel wall on his left side, hoping the odd tilt would support his weight. It did, but he found he couldn't go anywhere at all like that, the friction between the uneven rock and his body too much to allow him to slide in any direction. In the end, he discovered if he just sat down and used his left arm and leg to push himself across the ground, he could scoot himself backwards. Slowly. And each time he dragged his bad foot behind him, it sent fire up his whole leg, but at least it was still progress.

"Tony!" he ground out as the world around him went completely dark. Idiot must have gone around a corner and didn't have the decency to wait for the cripple. Refusing to admit that the pitch black void he had been abandoned in was at all getting under his skin, he clenched his jaw tight and doubled his efforts to move at a faster pace. He was sweating now despite the coolness of the tunnel, but wasn't sure if that was due to the extra effort he was putting out, the fever he knew he'd picked up some time while he was sleeping, or the _not_ slightly panicked state he was _not_ feeling creep up on him.

One more good shove put his back up against a wall. The jolt to his shoulder would've made his vision dim for a second had it not already been impossible to see. Reaching his left arm out, he felt nothing but open space on that side of his body, even when he leaned over some to try to grope for a wall. He shuffled himself around so he could feel for where the wall might be on his right. Nothing. He tried not to freak out, thinking that the tunnel probably just widened out a little, that if he felt around enough he'd reach a wall and figure out where it turned so he could follow Stark. The more he groped around, though, the more turned around he became. He didn't even know which direction he had come in anymore.

Once again deciding to throw dignity to the wind, he filled his lungs with as much air as they could hold and screamed Tony's name.

 

* * *

 

The yell didn't reach Tony's ears. He had tuned Clint out a while ago, made sure he was just far enough ahead to follow the sound of the water source instead of being forced to listen to Barton's rather colorful monologue. There was no obligation to expose his higher intelligence to that sort of crude rant - it wasn't like he could do anything about the fact that Clint had to drag himself along on his ass. The tunnel simply wasn't wide enough for Stark to offer any sort of assistance. Plus, he hadn't once made fun of the archer, not even when he had fallen on his face. The least he could be rewarded with for that was to not have to listen to the man's overly extreme complaints.

When the tunnel had split he kept right along, mindless of the way the walls had widened out and branched in different directions, heading towards what he now assumed was an actual underground river. The sound of rapids was clear in the distance, and he unconsciously picked up his pace as he sensed the end of the tunnel was near. He came across another intersection with three paths, which he quickly navigated as he continued to move closer to the increasingly loud rush of water.

"Clint, turn left when you reach the wall," he hollered over his shoulder without looking back, not realizing he had lost Barton back at that first turn.

Light filtered into the tunnel ahead, and had he been on his feet he would've jogged those last several yards. When he reached the opening he sat back on his heels, staring ahead in utter disbelief. There, on the other side of the river, lighting up the entire cavern as if it were daylight underground, was the crystal they had been sent to retrieve.

Stark started laughing, knowing he was sounding just like Clint had back in the pit. After all that, all the animals and the bridge and the falling and the broken bones, to just stumble across the artifact by sheer dumb luck? It was just too utterly inconceivable.

"Hey, Clint!" he called through his laughter. "You'll never believe what we just found!"

No answer came back to him.

"Clint!" he hollered again, still chuckling.

He turned and stuck his head back in the tunnel. The light from his reactor didn't go far enough back to show him much of anything, and the roar of the rapids pretty much drowned out whatever grumbling Barton was still doing.

Tony sighed, cursing Clint's slowness.

"Goddamn it, Clint! Quit screwing around and drag your ass out here!"

Now doing his own share of grumbling and monologue-ing, he crawled halfway back to the last intersection and still there was no sign of the archer.

"Clint? Can you hear me?"

Silence.

Well, shit. Now he'd done it. He'd lost Barton. If the man was irritable before, he would be outraged now. In fact, Tony was pretty certain that he'd wind up with ruptured eardrums with the amount of screaming Clint was going to be doing once he found him.

 _If_ he could find him. He couldn't think of exactly where he had lost him.

"There better not be any mutant bats in here," he muttered to no one as he reached the split. He picked a tunnel at random and headed down it, continuing to shout Clint's name as he did so.

God, he hated this. He lived in fucking Malibu for a _reason_ , so that he would never have to be close to the ground, much less in it. He grunted in pain as his elbow accidentally bumped the rock wall. Also in California Tony had decent medical health care, where he wouldn't be worrying about things like crawling underground with a broken arm. And even Clint, on a government salary, had some of the best medical coverage in the states. If it weren't for the fucking Avengers Initiative, neither of them would be in this situation, and Tony wouldn't have been crawling through a tunnel looking for a physically disabled Clint.

"I really, really, REALLY hate you with every fiber of my being," he mumbled to the non-present Clint. "So much...just so fucking much." A root hanging down from the ceiling and he angrily paused so he could lean against the wall of the tunnel and brush it away with his good hand. He started moving forward again, but the root was back and brushing over his neck.

Tony froze.

The root was definitely _moving._

Tony would have vomited if he wasn't paralyzed with horror.

He slowly turned over, keeping his broken arm tucked against his chest, as the light from the arc reactor illuminating the ceiling.

A huge, brown spider the size of his chest plate was directly above him, it's eyes glittering in the light.

"OH MY SHIT FUCKING GOD!" Tony screamed, before backpedaling away with his legs and good arm. "CLINT! CLINT! CLINT! SHITSHITSHIT!" The spider seemed to become agitated by the noise, but also attracted to the glow of Tony's reactor. It started skittering at an inhuman speed down the side of the tunnel, and onto Tony's legs. Tony began kicking savagely, but the spider nimbly crawled through the kicking metal legs and onto Tony's torso. "FUCKING HELLSPAWN!" Tony shrieked as the spider moved up to hover over the arc reactor.

Tony tried to swat it away with his arm, but the demon dodged, then sunk inch long fangs into the soft flesh of his appendage. Tony screamed, and smashed his arm against the side of the tunnel, but the spider didn't let go. "Fuck, oh fuck," he panted. He dropped his arm to his side and rolled over on it.

The spider let go, and he quickly pulled his arm out from under him, hissing as the fangs came free.

Thank god he couldn't feel the spider's death throes under his armor, but he definitely saw the legs twitching inches from his face. He waited for the movement to stop before he slowly inched off the flattened monster, inspecting the puncture wounds on what _had_ been his good arm. He made a disgusted look as blood had already began to ooze from them and the skin around them was turning bright pink. With a groan, he got back to his knees and hand, spider goop dripping from his chest. He panted loudly for a few moments, getting his breathing under control.

 _Fuck Hawkeye!_ Sure, people didn't always admit they were afraid of spiders, but that wasn't a spider, that was a goddamn crime against nature that had tried to rip him to pieces!

"Clint! Clint! Where the FUCK are you!" Tony was livid now.

This would have _never_ happened in LA.

 

* * *

 

He was trapped, and he couldn't see.

Clint's panicked mind supplied thoughts of dirt filling his lungs from a tunnel collapse and he flinched back once more, slamming into the wall.

There was the sound of roots protesting the sudden motion, but then the dirt wall he had thrown himself against suddenly gave ground. Clint burst through the wall and tumbled backward into open space, colliding with the ground with a thud that knocked the breath out of him.

Thankful he hadn't injured himself beyond jarring his leg and shoulder, Clint took in a shuddering, rapid gasp.

"Save a guy's life and he fucking vanishes on you," Clint startled as he heard Tony's voice from a distance away.

Clint tried to call out Stark's name, but little more escaped his lungs than a squeak that didn't sound at all like the noise a functioning human would make. _Dammit._ That meant he had to move.

As Clint shook his head to clear it, he took inventory of his surroundings. There was the sound of trickling water nearby and the ceiling of this segment was just enough for him to pull himself upright so that he could hop awkwardly forward instead of scooting along on his ass.

 _Trickling water..._ why did that spark something in his memory?

Clint disregarded the stray thought and made an awkward hop forward toward where he thought he'd heard Tony's voice come from. Each step was hard to take - it seemed as though the water source in the area wasn't too swift, as the area was only muddy and not covered.

The archer hopped forward, almost-blindly feeling his way along the wall. It wasn't pitch black in here now that his eyes had begun to adjust, but it was dark enough that he was forced to make sure he kept a near constant touch on the wall.

Clint gave a bellow of annoyance as his face smacked into the wall. Cursing constantly, he slid his finger on the dirt, trying to find how Tony's voice had filtrated through what seemed like a solid wall. At about waist height, he found a small gap approximately a hand wide. Cautiously, he stuck his right hand forward, once again allowing profanities to pour from his lips as he moved his injured shoulder. He hated sticking his hand in a _fucking_ dark hole, but he had to know if it would open up. For the first time, he wished that his left shoulder was injured. His left hand wasn't something he could afford to lose, but moving the right was probably just as painful as if that damned cat had caught him.

He'd prefer to lose a few fingers than an eye, if something nasty was in there.

Water brushed up against his fingers as he slipped his hand in and he frowned, wiggling the mandible about. The hole must be right at the waterline, which was what caused the only slightly damp state of the dirt floor. Clint retrieved his hand, knowing that (probably) nothing nasty was waiting on the other side, and stuck his left one through. He brushed up against something and grasped it. It felt like some sort of root, he thought absentmindedly.

Clint slipped as he overbalanced and nearly smacked his face against the wall again. Hastily, he retracted his arm but the limb was tangled in the root.

He yanked, and heard something crack. No pain registered in his mind, and he realized he must have just pulled the root out of where ever it had been lodged.

His breath caught. If the water was waist high, and the root was lodged into the wall that was keeping said water _out_ of Clint's little tunnel...

Shit.

His shirt was fully soaked by now - the shifting of the root, or wood, or whatever the hell it was, had caused the wall to weaken and the force of the water on the other side to increase.

Clint backed up hurriedly as the water's noise increased. Water was _spouting_ out of the hole now, splashing on the ground as it poured into the area.

He had to get out of here. _Now._

Clint made an awkward hop-shuffle as he tried to get distance between him and the wall to try to find something to grab onto. He strained his eyes, looking into the cave as he squinted.

"Tony!" he yelled, voice now fully functional.

No answer for the first few seconds, then, "Clint?"

"Tony!" he called back. "Marco!"

"Polo," Tony snickered and the bright light of Tony's built-in flashlight appeared. Clay smiled. "Do you know how long I've been looking for you, you ass-"

Then the wall cracked.

 _Shit. Not good. Not good. Fucking_ not _good._ Clint lunged forward, trying to get to Tony.

"Watch out!" he yelled, as water began to pour forth.

The warning didn't come fast enough. The remainder of the dirt wall exploded out, the force of the water strong enough to knock both men off their feet. Clint disappeared somewhere beneath the rush as Tony scrambled to keep hold of the rocks at the entrance to the small cavern he had been standing in.

"Clint!" he hollered, scanning the quickly rising surface of the water. The fingers on his good hand were starting to go numb from the spider venom, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. With the weight of his suit, if he slipped and went under...

A sputtering shout alerted him to the other side of the natural room, and he turned to see Barton desperately trying to keep his head above water. It was pressing him against the wall, pinning him in place as easily as one of Hulk's meaty hands. Scrambling for a purchase on the rocks above him, Clint tried to pull himself upwards, clearly hoping to stay above the rising pool.

Tony forced his arm to work, to haul his own body further up the sloping path that lead away from the cavern. The tunnel was filling, and if they both didn't get out of there soon, they'd miss their exit. He could go now, get back to safety, but there was no way he was going to be blamed for letting Clint drown. Turning back around, feeling the ease in which his suit kept him weighted down in the water, he tried to get the archer's attention.

"Clint! You have to let go!" he shouted. Barton slipped a little, his face going back beneath the water, and came up choking. Stark dug his feet into the mud beneath as the water came up to his shoulders, and he feared the current would pull him the rest of the way down. Bracing his arm against the top of the tunnel, he looked back down to see that Clint's panicked eyes were watching him.

"Let go!" he screamed again.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Clint screamed back.

Stark shook his head. "You have to go down! Get below the current!"

Clint looked at him like he had lost his mind. There was no way he was doing that. It was insane! He'd drown!

The water rose even more, and he watched as Tony was forced to move backwards up the tunnel again. Stark was going to leave him. Damn it, that asshole was going to let him drown!

"I hate you, Tony!" he screamed before sucking in a deep breath and ducking below the surface.

Ignoring his damaged shoulder for the time being in favor of survival, he used both arms to turn himself upside down, grabbing hold of cracks and rocks in the wall to pull himself towards the bottom of the cavern. The force of the water pressing against his body made it hard, made his descent slow, and he had to constantly remind himself not to open his mouth in a moment of panic. It took forever to reach the bottom, and just when he thought Tony's plan was total bullshit, that the current was just as strong underneath and he would simply die on the floor of the cavern instead of at the top, he felt a lack of pressure against his arms. The space was small, would require him to press his body all the way against the ground and drag himself along the bottom towards the tunnel, but at least he could move.

Reluctantly letting out the remainder of the air in his lungs to prevent his body from trying to float back up, he tried his best to hurry towards where he had last seen Stark. His chest burned, his shoulder was on fire, and he could feel the very inconvenient sense of nausea creeping back up on him. Now was not the time for his fever or his overbearing pain - he hadn't quite decided which one was the cause - to make him get sick. Again. For the third time since he had gotten himself lost. He didn't even have anything left to puke up, anyway.

Well, maybe he did now. The water rushing into his mouth as it had tried to kill him was not as welcoming as he had hoped it would be back when he was dragging himself blind through the tunnels, pondering on whether he'd die of dehydration first or from some giant centipede/rat thing doing him the favor of amputating his throbbing leg.

Bumping into a wall in front of him reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing. Reaching up, he prepared himself to drag his body back upwards into the current. Then tunnel was right above him. It had to be. All he had to do was haul himself far enough up for Tony to grab him. He could make it. He could ignore the sensation of his head threatening to explode due to lack of oxygen. He could ignore his weakening grip, and his body screaming at him to just open his mouth and inhale. He could ignore it. He was almost there. Hand over hand. He was almost out. He could do this.

His arms shook, and his stomach spasmed as it tried to rebel against him.

No, he couldn't do this. He wasn't going to make it.

* * *

Tony watched with wide eyes as Clint dove under. He scanned the surface, but the darkness and the rushing water made it really hard to see. He pushed himself back out slightly, water curling around his numb arm as he held the broken one to his chest. _Goddamn it, Clint,_ he thought. _The cavern wasn't flooded_ before _you went in it._ Trust it to the archer to make things way harder.

But he needed someone to talk to, or else he'd go crazy down here.

The light from the arc reactor just barely penetrated the surface, and Stark was beginning to grow anxious. The archer still hadn't shown up. "Clint!" he shouted.

Movement below him. He could make out the faint outline of Barton's form, but he was still close to the bottom, and moving to slowly to the surface to satisfy Tony. He was almost to the surface when Clint's body gave a violent spasm and he stopped moving. "Shit, _Clint_!" Tony fell to the floor of the tunnel on his chest, crying out as he landed on his broken arm and did the best to move it from under him. He then slowly struggled to send the numb arm after Clint. "Clint! Clint c'mon, I need you to help! Goddamn it, Clint!" He moved his arm back and forth in the water, but it was like trying to grab something with the end of a pole. He felt numb fingers bump against Clint's form a few times, before he saw that his hand was near Clint's wrist. He struggled to get a grip on Clint's wrist, but it was trying to force his fingers to move in a glove made from an old tire. He tried instead hooking his hand into Clint's sleeve. Clint still hadn't moved much. Then (and Tony would _kill_ Clint later for this), he began pushing himself backwards with his broken arm.

He cried out in agony with each slow push, but gradually Clint came out of the water, coughing violently and throwing up water. Tony couldn't really hear him that well over his own shouts of pain.

When Clint was laid out on the ground in the tunnel, coughing and shaking, Tony collapsed in front of him, breathing heavily. "Clint," he gasped. No direct leaned over to one side and swung his numb arm into Clint's head. "Clint," he panted again, "you with me buddy?"

Another cough, followed by a "...hyurg..."

The water was flowing underneath them though the tunnel at a steady trickle. "Clint...we need to move...or dead for sure...and then Nick Fury will...blow up my house..."

"...fuckin' good," Clint whispered, before he curled in on himself, dry heaving. He moaned as the fever, headache, and pained limbs more than took their toll. "Tony," he whispered. "...I can't...can't..."

Tony's heart sank at the admission, before he became angry again, crying out as he rolled onto his broken arm to swing his numb arm back into Clint. He turned the cry into one of anger before he panted, "What's wrong with you! We have to get out of here! Where's...where's the Hawkeye...I know...we fought off mutant monsters," Tony tried not to think about the giant dead spider waiting down the tunnel, "survived falls...drowning...we're the fuckin' Avengers...and we're...getting out of here." Tony panted, the effort leaving him winded. "...somehow..." he mumbled to himself.

Clint cracked one eye open and made a feeble attempt to swat away Tony's arm. "Why're you...clubbing me?" he moaned, ignoring the way the water was creeping up his body.

In a last, valiant effort, Tony shoved his hand in Barton's shirt again and did his best to twist the fabric around his fingers. "Because..." he ground out as he took a step up the incline, dragging Clint a few precious inches away from the rising flood, "I can't..." -another pull- "feel my..." -a whole foot gained- "fucking..." -another painful heave- "arm!"

He fell back on his ass, completely winded by the attempt. Clint, the bastard, hadn't even tried to help. He had just clenched his eyes shut and lay like a heavy, boneless mass, softly coughing up more water and making those damn little whimpering noises. Tony cursed as the water he had just managed to clear immediately began wrapping around Barton's ankles again.

"Please...Clint," he begged quietly. "Need your...help."

The numbness in his arm was taking over his whole shoulder now, and he was having trouble moving it. Knowing the tunnel shrunk down to "crawling room only" at the top of the incline, he wasn't even sure at this point how he was going to get _himself_ out, let alone Clint. He wouldn't have an arm left to drag himself along with; he needed Barton to get his ass moving.

"What's...wrong..." Clint hissed in a breath and held it for a second before continuing, "with your...arm?"

A light bulb went off in Tony's head and he smiled with an inkling of renewed hope. Barton might be willing to give up on himself, but would he leave a teammate to die? Highly unlikely. It was guilt trip time.

"Big...fucking...spider...bit me." He laid on a thick moan of his own. In truth, the bite didn't even hurt anymore. Of course, that was probably because he couldn't feel his goddamn arm, but Clint didn't need to know that.

Barton opened his eyes again and squinted at Stark. He locked his gaze on Tony's arm, seeing the two angry punctures and the swelling, discolored flesh. It was obvious that the limb was pretty much useless at this point, and a pang of guilt passed through him as he realized Stark had just hauled him out of the water with it, _and_ tried to drag him out of the tunnel.

"Goddamn it...Tony."

Rolling forward onto his stomach, he managed to get his good arm beneath him and tried to shove himself up. Pausing to force back another bout of nausea, he slowly got his good knee under his body and pushed himself to his feet.

"Atta boy, Clint," Stark whispered. The archer looked pale, like he could keel over at any second, but he was up and reaching down to grasp Tony's arm. Barton let out a pained little growl as he jerked Stark to a standing position, and with both of them using the walls to brace themselves, they gradually made it up to the spot where the tunnel narrowed again.

Clint looked at the height of the ceiling, then frowned at the way Tony's arm now hung completely limp by his side. Sighing, he let himself fall down on his rear, back facing the entrance, and dragged Stark down with him.

"Clint, how-"

"Push with your feet...when I tell you to," Barton snapped between heavy breaths. Tony didn't question him, just waited for the order. He watched as Barton shoved himself backwards into the tunnel a little ways, just like he had before, before reaching out and sliding his fingers around the rim of the Iron Man suit collar. "Push," he instructed, pulling Tony back towards him using the momentum from Tony's pushing feet, his hand keeping Stark upright.

 _This might actually work,_ Tony thought, proud of himself for getting Clint's mind back in the game.

Finding himself falling backwards with a _thud_ made him rethink his victory.

"Clint?"

"Just need...catch my breath..."

Tony nodded. It was fine. The top of the incline should've been high enough above the cavern's ceiling to keep the water from rising all the way into this smaller tunnel. Clint could take as long as he needed. Once they got back to the-

He chuckled lightly at the thought of their destination. "Hey, Clint?"

"Hmm?"

"Wanna know...something funny?"

Barton let out a noncommittal grunt. It was as good as a yes.

"I found...the fucking...crystal."

There was a groan, and a shuffle as Clint pushed himself back up into a sitting position. "You're...shitting me."

"No. We found it...buddy."

Clint let himself fall back onto the hard dirt and started laughing again. It wasn't the crazy man laughter from back when they fell into the pit. It was one that was a mixture of awe, disbelief, amusement, general relief, and the sense that all this hadn't actually been for nothing.

"Where?" he asked breathlessly once he was through.

Tony sucked in a steadying breath and gave him very specific directions back through the tunnels. He had the distinct feeling that at the rate the spider venom was slowly numbing his body, he wouldn't be much help to Clint for long. The least he could do was guide his friend to their destination, serving as a big, heavy flashlight if nothing else. And _god_ he hoped the spider's bite was only designed for paralysis. Death by huge fucking arachnid was just not a very valiant way to go down.

"Ready?" Clint asked.

"On your go," Tony replied.

He had to wait another few seconds while Barton sounded like he was dry heaving again, and then they were moving. It was going to be a long, slow journey back to that goddamn crystal, and Tony prayed he wouldn't be dead before they got there.

Their progress was tremendously slow-going. Tony had tried to help at first, kicking with his feet while Clint pulled and scooted backwards inch after painful inch. Tony had assured him it wasn't too far, but it still felt like they were crossing North America. Clint had been able to keep the nausea at bay, but now he was soaking wet, minute tremors passing through his body every once in a while, on top of a fever, re-located shoulder and oh yeah, broken ankle. Not to mention pulling something along that weighed as much as a small automobile. He didn't have the energy to bitch or moan, but he grumbled nonsensically every once in a while to let Tony know he did not appreciate this.

Until they passed the husk of the dead spider.

Clint had just stared at it for a moment, breathing loudly, and Tony had only raised his eyebrows in a sort of "See?" motion.

By then, Tony had stopped kicking, and wasn't speaking much. When he did, it was only one word at a time, and it was slurred. God, Clint hoped he didn't have brain damage. Wait, what was he saying, the man was already brain damaged.

But each time the man tried to speak, Clint could see the fear in his face, until finally his mouth had gone slack and he only moved his eyes. Not able to hold his broken arm against his chest anymore, the appendage hung loosely on his other side, and Tony grunted a pained breath every time it dragged over a particularly uneven part of the tunnel. The archer couldn't do anything about it at that point, except his best to get them both the fuck out of here. Clint looked worriedly at the puncture wounds on his other arm, beginning to see red veins snake their way out from the marks.

Clint turned off his brain for a while then, only concentrating on _pull_ , pain, _stop_ , pain, _breathe_ , pain, _pull_ , pain. It was the only world he knew until suddenly he found himself falling backwards down a two foot drop. A pained _"oof_ " escaped his lips and he lay there for a moment, breathing. He rolled his eyes backwards to look behind him.

And there was the crystal.

A half-cry, half-laugh burst forth from the archer.

He heard Tony make a strangled noise from above him and painfully pulled himself up to the other man's level.

Vomit was coming out of Tony's mouth, and the man's eyes were a mixture of fear, pain and embarrassment. Clint quickly rolled him on his side so he wouldn't drown in it. "Well, now we're even, I guess..." Clint said, but there was no humor, or snideness, or animosity in his tone.

Just worry and exhaustion.

Once he maneuvered Stark around enough so that the paralyzed man's back was against one wall of the tunnel, preventing him from rolling back off his side, Clint just sat and stared at the crystal for several long minutes. It was funny to think that if none of the bullshit with the bridge and fall and mutant animals and spider-infested tunnels hadn't happened, they would never have found the damn thing. They would've gone in to "storm the castle" - well, actually, they would've have attempted cat burglar mode first, with Clint picking off perimeter guards and cameras before Tony could get close enough to the control box to tap into the security feed, but stealth was never really one of Tony's strong suits and it would've wound up with them effectively "storming the castle," anyway - probably gotten into a huge gun battle - or, gun/arrow/proton beam battle, technically - which they probably would've won - after suffering a few minor wounds of their own, no doubt - and then would've spent the rest of the day searching for a crystal that wasn't anywhere near the building. It was a smart hiding place, really. Kudos to ol' Dom for thinking it up. Too bad for him the two most accident prone members of the Avengers were the ones sent to find it.

Fate could be a real bitch sometimes.

But she could also be a huge help.

The whole reason they were sent after the crystal in the first place was because of what it could do. Theoretically, if used properly, the thing held the power of mind control, using telepathic links to send thoughts or orders from the crystal's holder to their designated target. Basically it could turn anyone into Professor X...if it wasn't so dangerous. Dom was keeping it hidden, running tests on it to try to convert it into a form that was safer for a human mind to control. From what intel had gathered, anyone who had attempted to make the crystal work either wound up in a coma for days to weeks, waking up with the worst headache of all time that lasted another couple days before the person could even begin to function again around the crippling pain...or they never woke up at all. But tests confirmed that each and every time, the crystal _did_ transmit the subject's thoughts.

"Tony," Clint whispered, mindless of the fact that the river separating them from the crystal on the other bank was probably drowning out his voice. "I'm getting you out of here."

Finding the willpower to push himself up on his one good leg, he gave Stark a pat on the shoulder and painfully hopped his way over to the edge of the water. Instead of easing himself down he just allowed his body to collapse beneath him, feeling the spray of water hit his face, taking a moment to enjoy its coolness against his heated skin. He wanted to drink it, already over the last bout he had with this river, but knew he'd just throw it right back up. Now was not the time to indulge his thirst, to tempt his feverish body, not when he was so close to finding a way to contact home.

He focused instead on the rocks jutting out of the water, creating a mental map to follow that would successfully get him across to the other side. It would require the use of his right arm again, but he didn't have a choice. It was either more searing pain, or risk being washed downstream to wherever the water spat out of the ground, possibly even getting sucked underneath the surface and back through the hole he had created in the wall. There'd be no escaping that flooded cavern a second time.

Gritting his teeth, he rolled into the frigid water and found his first handhold. Ever so carefully, making sure his grip was as strong as it could be before cautiously getting his foot underneath him, doing his best to ensure that his foot wouldn't slip on the rocks before he reached for his next hold, he made his way across. There was a moment in the center when he couldn't touch the bottom, and his shoulder protested as he was forced to use only his arms to haul himself through the current, but he wasn't about to let go. He was too close to give up now. Besides, he couldn't back out on his word. He wasn't leaving Tony to die alone in a hole, unable to move or even speak. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy...which, in a way, Tony kind of _was_ , but in the odd sense that he was also Clint's best friend. It was a complicated relationship.

With his mind wandering so easily, he was a little shocked when his knee bumped the bottom, and he realized a bit sheepishly that he could've had his foot on solid ground if he had tried it several feet back. Releasing his hold with his right arm, he tucked it back against his body and used only his good limbs to haul himself the rest of the way out of the water, refusing to stop and rest on the other side. If he did, he wouldn't be getting back up again no matter how much he wanted to. His body was spent.

With a shuffling hop, he got himself over to the little pedestal the crystal sat on and picked it up with a shaking hand. His leg immediately gave way beneath him, his mind alerting it to the fact that it was done with its part of the mission. He didn't even have the strength to cry out as he hit the ground hard, his broken leg folding underneath him, the damaged tendons in his shoulder warning him that they may not work properly ever again. It didn't matter. He had the crystal. He had a means of communication. It might kill him, but he could get word out to his friends. He could at least get Tony out of Hell.

Sucking in a determined breath, clearing his mind of everything but their location and the events that unfolded to bring them to their current predicament, he pressed the purple shard against his forehead and willed the information out to S.H.I.E.L.D., forgetting that he was supposed to only choose one target. In the flash of a second he felt like his mind had split into pieces, tearing into his brain as he sent his SOS out to Steve, Thor, Banner, Natasha, Fury, and even fucking Coulson. It was too much.

He let out a scream that Tony felt down in his bones despite the paralysis, and then all was quiet.

 _Clint, what did you do?_ Tony shouted inside his head. Panic settled in his heart as he wondered if his fears were about to be true. Whatever just happened to Clint, it sounded like it probably killed him, leaving Tony to a slow, very lonely death of his own. He found himself wishing he had just lost to that big fucking cat in the first place. At least it would've been quick.


	3. Goddamn It, Clint

Steve sat anxiously in the Quinjet across from Banner, who had his chin resting against his fist and was looking out the window of the quinjet in a brooding sort of way. Natasha was flying the vehicle, Coulson and Thor sitting up front with her. Another quinjet with a medical team flew on their right, and a third with a science team flew back and to their left.

Back in New York, everyone had been been literally floored when a wave of images, thoughts and desperation invaded their minds. The next thing Steve knew, he was on his back on the floor, a worried Thor also on the floor next to him. "Clint Barton," he breathed. Steve nodded. Coulson had found them shortly afterward, telling them Nick Fury had also been affected as well as him, Natasha and Bruce, and they were sending teams to go find the missing pair of Avengers. Steve had accepted it all without a thought, only finding out on the flight South about the crystal Stark and Barton had been sent to retrieve, and its powers. The flight south had also given Steve time to contemplate the images they had all seen. The monsters, the falls, the caves...Steve would have chuckled at the hapless duo's misadventures, but there were also the images of pain, near-drowning...Steve's heart was consumed with worry for his friends.

Judging from the silence in the cabin, so was everyone else's.

"We're approaching the coordinates, activating sonar." They didn't have the exact location of the underground cave, but they knew it was somewhere near the base, and they could use the advanced sonar to find the cave network underground. Steve got up anxiously from his chair to watch the screen with everyone else. Natasha maneuvered the quinjet slowly around the area. The sonar pinged loudly and she smiled. "I think we have something." Steve pulled his cowl over his head.

"Let's go."

* * *

Tony was a prisoner in his own body. He had ceased to feel any pain and could only move his eyes. It had been a while since he heard Clint's gut-wrenching scream, but he couldn't see anything or hear anything to fucking  _do_ anything about it, and it was killing him. He couldn't hear sounds of movement or breathing so he could only hope Clint was alive, and whatever he did help would be on the way.

_But at what cost?_

He couldn't stand his inability to get himself and Clint out of this terrible situation. He had become everything he had because he promised himself he'd never be weak again, never let others suffer, and to turn every weakness into a strength.

But now they were here, and Tony was maybe laying in his grave with  _another_ friend who'd died for him, died so that he could live.

_Goddamn it, Clint, I think highly of myself, but I'm not_ that  _important._

Tony swallowed thickly before he heard loud sounds coming from somewhere near the top of the cave. Great, now the cave was collapsing. Any hope they had had of escape, that Barton still lived, that he wouldn't die of trapped in his own fucking body with the taste of vomit still in his mouth was rapidly dwindling away.

"Clint! Tony!"

_Oh my god_... was that fucking _Steve_?

He struggled to move again, but nothing happened except his breathing became a little louder. The sounds of Steve calling out to them were louder, and Tony could also here the sounds of something sliding down cables.

"I found Clint Barton," Thor's voice now. "He is alive but not responsive."

Tony should have shaken with relief if he could.  _Clint was alive._

He heard a splash, followed by crunching as someone moved quickly over rocks. A half-blue face invaded his vision. "Tony?"

He tried to give some sign, but he could do nothing. He just looked at the captain with wide eyes, trying to convey  _something_.

Steve gently rolled him back onto his back. "It's gonna be okay, Tony, we're gonna get you out of here." He grasped Tony's hand supportively.

Tony wished he could feel it.

 

* * *

Time became Tony's worst enemy as he slipped in and out of wakefulness. Someone was always around whenever he could get his eyes to open - talking to him, reassuring him, touching his arms, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand - even though he couldn't respond and couldn't feel their touch. They'd tell him that he was going to be fine, that they found an anti-venom, that it would flush out of his system soon.  _Soon_  was apparently the new definition for  _maybe sometime in the next century._

He couldn't move to see the clock on the wall, couldn't ask Jarvis for a time update, couldn't even properly keep count of the seconds ticking by in his head. His mind was too full of questions, but not questions about his own injuries. Everyone kept talking about  _him_ , telling him the broken arm would mend, that they were able to treat the flesh around the puncture wounds before it got too bad, but there'd be some scarring, letting him know that when feeling returned, it'd be slow and he'd need help getting around for a while. Fine. Whatever. Good for him. He didn't care. The big question was, why the fuck weren't they telling him anything about Clint?

He drifted out again listening to Thor prattle on about...something Asgardian that he didn't give two shits about...and woke up to see Steve leaning over him with an odd smile on his face. And then there was pain. Tony's breathing increased at the odd sensation, not realizing how very weightless one felt when they were disconnected from their own body, and how regaining that awareness - no matter how little a level - could be so suddenly confining. He felt heavy, like he would sink down into the bed at any moment and just keep on going right through the floor. That coupled with his broken bone deciding to scream at him for attention made for a rather rude return to the land of non-paralysis.

"Easy, Tony, take it easy," Steve tried to sooth.

"H'rt," Tony was able to push out past the lead weight that was his tongue, and the lips that he was barely able to force open.

Why was Steve's grin getting  _bigger_?

"Good. That's good, Tony."

_What?_

"Fu'...you," he moaned.

Goddamn it, and now Rogers was laughing at him. "Sorry, sorry. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is great, Tony. Honestly. The anti-venom was taking so long to kick in, we were starting to get worried it wasn't going to work, after all."

Great. So all those reassurances had been lies. Wonderful.

"I'll see what we can give you for the pain." Rogers smiled apologetically. "We were afraid to put you on anything without being sure. And since you couldn't feel anything, anyway..."

It was the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do, but through sheer force of will Tony managed to slightly curl the fingers on the hand of his not broken arm enough for Steve to get the rather crude memo that he didn't appreciate anything about his current situation.

"I know, but trust me, this is a good sign." Steve patted Tony's arm, and it actually  _was_ a bit of a joyful realization that he could feel it. "I'll be back with one of the medics. Don't go anywhere."

And then the joyful moment was over. Since when did Rogers pick up an asshole sense of humor? That was supposed to be reserved for the Stark/Barton duo.

Barton.

Damn it, he hadn't had a chance to ask about Clint. That'd be the first thing he did once Steve got back. He needed to know what had happened to his friend, and why everyone seemed so intent on avoiding the subject.

Tony tried to stay awake until Steve came back, but he simply couldn't. When he woke up again, no one was there. His broken arm still ached, and it felt like his nerves were still slowly reattaching to his body. He tried to raise his hand to take out the oxygen tube in his nose, but it felt like he was trying to lift up 60 pounds of weight. He grunted, straining, before his arm collapsed back on the bed after only having lifted a few inches. The effort left him sweating and winded, and he sucked in oxygen through his nose. When his breathing had slowed somewhat, he gritted his teeth and tried again.

This time, as soon as he got his arm about an inch higher than last time, pain shot through it like a lance, and he dropped it back on the bed surface, a small cry escaping from his mouth.

"Tony, crap, what are you doing?"

Tony, still breathing heavily, moved his eyes over and saw Steve coming in the room. "Tony, just...take it easy. Okay?" Tony knitted his brow in frustration, but Steve seemed to understand. "You've only been awake for a day. Just rest, you shouldn't be trying to move yet."

Then Tony remembered what he had been going to ask him.

"Cl...nt..." he ground out.

Steve's eyes darkened and he looked at the floor for a moment.

"Where..." Tony pressed him.

"He's alive, Tony," Steve said quietly. Tony turned his head away, taking several deep breaths of relief. He turned back towards Steve, waiting for more. Steve still didn't look up.

Tony waited for a moment, but Steve still didn't say anything. "...but..." he ground out.

"But..." Steve hesitated, before sighing heavily. "...but, he used the crystal so that we could find you guys. And...as we know, its power isn't fully understood..." Steve looked at him then, brow furrowed and eyes pained. Tony couldn't remember seeing him so lost before. "He's in a coma, Tony. They don't...don't know..."

"...ow...lon'?"

Steve sighed again. "Five days. We found you both five days ago."

Tony shut his eyes against the clenching he suddenly felt in his chest and stomach. The term "be careful what you wish for" never applied more fully to him than it did at that moment. He had wanted to feel, wanted to be aware of time, wanted to know what had happened to Clint, and now he just wanted it all to go away. He didn't want the heartache that came with the knowledge that his friend had put himself in a coma just to save  _his_ arrogant ass. That's not how it was supposed to work. Tony was fucking Iron Man, for Christ's sake. He was the one with the money and the near-invincible suit. Clint was just a goddamn normal guy with a fancy bow and stupidly good aim. The normal guy was not supposed to sacrifice himself to save the superhero. It was all ass backwards, and it pissed Tony off.

"T...t'k...me," he demanded, doing his best to give Steve the  _don't argue with me_ look.

Steve shook his head, clearly either not catching the look or blatantly ignoring it, knowing Tony couldn't do a damn thing about it. "There's too much involved with moving you right now. Give yourself another day to rest, for the anti-venom to keep doing it's job, and then we'll think about taking you to see him. Okay?"

"No." Tony swallowed and focused hard on forming his words clearly. "Please...Steve."

Kicked puppy eyes. He  _hoped_  the face he was making was kicked puppy, anyway, and not something hideous that looked like it needed to  _be_ kicked. The partially sad, partially amused look Steve was giving him in return didn't really clue him in either way.

There was a long silence before Tony asked again, putting more of a begging quality into his tone. " _Please._ "

And there it was, the Rogers sigh. The man was caving. He was such a predictable pushover. "Let me get some people in here to unhook some of these machines. Don't try to help when we move you, okay? If you start being your stubborn self I'll see to it you don't leave this room for another week."

"Yes...Dad..." Tony managed a small grin, and waited patiently for the Captain to fetch the obedient little worker bees. He'd behave... until he got into Clint's room. Then he was going to do everything in his power to make his fucking arm move enough to punch that son of a bitch right in the face.  _That'd_ wake him up.

* * *

Tony had kept his promise, mostly, and was still when they unhooked the machines and IVs from him. They didn't want to put him in a wheel chair since he couldn't hold himself up, but they did move him to a smaller gurney. It took five people to move him, Steve included, and it fucking  _hurt_. Tony hoped he'd be unconscious when they moved him back. He was breathing through clenched teeth and sweating profusely by the end of the first move. Steve's face came into his view then, looking apologetic. "You don't have to do this, Tony," he said gently.

"Yes...I do..." he ground out. Thankfully, Steve seemed to understand, and nodded at the nurses who were looking annoyed that they had to bow to the whims of their sick as hell patients.

As they wheeled him into Clint's room, Tony's heart sunk. The man was strapped up to more machines than him. Underneath the monitors and the oxygen tubes and the IV lines, Clint's skin was completely pale, and Tony could already see his cheeks had begun to sink in. Tony just stared, breathing shakily through his nose for a few minutes. Banner, who had been sitting with a laptop at Clint's side stood up and moved over to the gurney. "How's it going?" Steve asked him, like Tony wasn't even fucking there.

Banner sighed. "Not well," he replied apologetically. Tony turned his head away from Clint to stare at Banner. Banner spared him a glance before continuing. "There's just not much information to take from this, other than what we know happened to previous users. Some wake up. Some it took hours, others weeks. There's just simply no way to tell. And since Clint made contact with all of us..." he trailed off. Tony was floored. How could the man be so blasé about their teammate? Clint might never wake up. And all because he had been too stupid to keep his helmet on. His breathing hitched, and he managed to curl his fingers around the sheets of the gurney.

"Tony?" Steve asked as he and Bruce bent down.

With a strength he didn't know he had at the moment, Tony shot his hand out, grabbing Bruce's jacket and gripping it tightly. The pain just made him angrier. "Fig...ure...out..." he demanded. He gave him what he considered his most irate CEO glare. Banner just looked surprised as Steve gently pried his fingers loose from his teammate.

"That's enough, Tony," he said quietly. Tony was breathing harshly through the waves of pain the movement had caused him. "Bruce is doing everything he can. And you need to rest."

As they wheeled him out of the room, Tony only looked at Clint apologetically.

* * *

The third day after he had regained feeling, Tony was lying still in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and doing his best to ignore the steady ache that had become his constant companion. It had dulled quite a bit over time, the result of the warring poison and subsequent antidote taking its fight outside of his body as his system was continually flushed with fluids. It still sucked, though. He could move around a lot easier now, but a lot of the times he just didn't want to. It hurt too damn bad.

Clint still wasn't moving at all. Every day Tony insisted on multiple visits with the archer, and each time it killed him to see that his friend was still slipping away. It wasn't fair that he felt a little better, hurt a little less, regained more mobility with each new morning, while Clint died a little more with each setting of the sun. It was even less fair that the anger he felt towards his teammate for doing something so idiotic got away from him every time he entered the room, that he couldn't bring himself to give the asshole that very well-deserved face punch. The only thing Tony could feel when he took in the slack features of his friend, his mind unconsciously tracking all the beeps and whirs of the machines that were keeping Clint alive, was a strange emptiness. A hollow void would simply take over, unwilling to let him be angry, or to grieve, or to do things like pray or feel hope. It was like he just went into a limbo, just waiting to see one way or another what would happen before he was allowed to feel emotion again. It was unnerving, and always left him a little exhausted when they returned him to his bed.

"I got it!"

Tony opened his eyes at the breathless yell coming from the hallway. It had sounded like Natasha, but that couldn't be right. She didn't sound...bitchy. In fact, she sounded a little excited.

There was more commotion in the hall as people ran by. Curious, Tony moved to push the little call button that was always near his fingertips, often easier to use than trying to talk to someone through Jarvis. Talking still winded him more than he liked to admit.

Thor appeared in the doorway before he got the button pressed all the way, a smile on his face. There hadn't been a lot of those lately, not with the melancholy that had settled on everyone as they waited for Clint to decide whether he was going to wake up or not. "Natasha retrieved some information from Dominique Santano," the god told him excitedly. "There may be hope, yet, for our sleeping friend."

Tony's eyes grew wide, and he pressed the control on the bed to raise him up closer to a sitting position. "I wanna see," he grunted.

"I thought you might. I will get assistance."

Good old Thor, always thinking of everyone else. Tony fidgeted impatiently while he waited to get disconnected and settled in the chair that he was now allowed to ride in. For now, he completely forgot about his pain, instead doing his best to will Thor to push him down the hall a little faster. It had felt like ages since he'd allowed himself to feel hope, and now it was almost overwhelming.

The feeling vanished as soon as he got in the room as saw that Banner was carefully attaching the last of a series of probes to Clint's head.

"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm, seeing the console with large electric dials that the series of wires led to.

Steve shot an accusatory look at Thor. "What's he doing in here?"

The Asgardian stood his ground. "He should be allowed to see this. Clint is his friend, too."

Banner ignored them all and looked again at the page Natasha was holding up for him, studying it closely. "You're sure this is legitimate? If this is a false lead..."

"I'm sure." And damned if Natasha never sounded more sure about anything in her life.

"Guys," Tony started in, trying to get a little more volume in his tone to no avail.

Everything was happening so fast, everyone so eager to do whatever they could to bring Clint back to them. Steve took a step towards Tony and Thor, probably ready to continue arguing that Stark shouldn't be there; Fury had suddenly appeared in the doorway, pushing his way into the room with Coulson hot on his heels; Natasha read off a quick series of numbers to Banner on his order; dials were turned, the readouts on the machines went haywire, Clint's body twitched as jolts of electricity were pumped straight into his head; breaths were held as everyone in the room froze and fell silent with the exception of Banner and Natasha, playing mad scientist and assistant. It went on for hours...or, in reality, just a couple of minutes...but to Tony it might as well have been years. When Bruce eased the dials back down and Clint's muscles instantly went lifeless again, everyone's eyes flew to the machines monitoring his brain activity. There was a little hitch here, a small dip there, a flutter of something that may have indicated a thought, or possibly just some lingering electrical energy, and then it settled out to where it had been sitting for the last eight days.

"It didn't work..." Banner whispered. "I'm sorry..."

Natasha was the first to move. She threw the clipboard hard enough across the room that it chipped the wall on the other side, then stormed out, swearing she was going back to rip Dom's legs off his body. Fury simply clenched his jaw, nodded once at Banner, and stiffly moved out. Coulson took an extra second to rest a hand on Clint's arm before following. Steve placed a supportive hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Why don't you take a break? Maybe we missed something. Think on it a little and we'll try again later. I'll sit with him."

"No," Tony snapped. "I'll stay. I need..." His voice trailed away, the words catching with all the emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel for the past three days.

Steve seemed to think it over a bit before nodding. Without a word, he stepped in behind Thor and pushed the chair right up next to the bed, turning it so Tony could reach Clint's one free arm with his own. With that, he, Banner, and Thor slipped out of the room, simply leaving instructions with Tony to push the call button on Clint's bed when he was ready to go back to his own.

Once he was alone, Tony really didn't know what to say. He checked the monitors again, glad to see that the probes at least hadn't messed with Clint's vitals. His temperature was still normal (the fever caused from a slight inner infection in his broken leg taken care of on day one), his heart rate was reasonably slow, blood pressure on the low end - all normal coma patient symptoms. That extra blip on the brain wave meter was-

Wait.

Tony watched intently as it happened again...then again a few seconds later.

"Clint?" he whispered.

Then the machine went nuts.

Clint's eyes shot open, then immediately clenched tight again, and he brought his free hand up to his head. The right arm struggled inside his sling, and he kicked his legs against the bed as he tried to curl up on his side.

"Clint, hey!"

Tony tried to grab at Barton's arms so he wouldn't hurt himself, but the man was panicking. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing but a weak, cracking, whimpering squeak came out. Tears were streaming out of the closed eyelids, and Clint turned his body even more in an attempt to bury his face into his pillow.

"Jarvis, kill the lights!" Tony hissed, not wanting to aggravate Clint's headache even more by shouting. He was getting tired from trying to hold Barton still from his awkward position in the chair, and the extra effort he was putting out hurt like hell. Clenching his teeth, he pressed the call button again and again, desperately needing someone to help him. At this rate Clint was going to mess up that shoulder and leg again...not that he'd notice. Tony was pretty sure the only thing Barton was aware of at the moment was the feeling that his head was about to explode right of his neck; and as much as that scared Tony, he couldn't help but feel a tiny sense of relief.

Clint was awake.

* * *

There was a searing pain in his head and Clint tried to bring his arms up to clench his skull. It felt as if something had drilled into him and left a crack in his head.

Something was restraining him, pinning him to the bed.

_They'd been captured,_  was his first thought.  _Jesus Christ._ He had to escape, had to tear out of the restraints.

Clint threw his arms up, grunting as his arm jarred from the painful blow. Someone cursed, and Clint realized he must have hit whoever was holding him down. The pain was making it hard to think, to anticipate, but he  _had_ to get out of this. If he was captured, then Tony could be in danger.

He yanked his leg up, sending his knee into whatever was on top of him.

The pain was unbearable and it choked a sob out of him as he tried to escape what was pinning him down. Didn't they see that all he wanted to do was curl up and die?

No. Tony. He had to protect Tony.

The lights around him clicked off, and the pain marginally decreased to the extent where Hawkeye was aware of the pain in his arm and ankle. He had to drown it out though, he had to get free. Clint bucked again on the bed -  _wait, bed?_ \- and lashed out with his elbow.

The sound of the cursing resuming made him flinch and give a small whimper again.

His brain felt as if it were trying to burst out of his skull. Voices were beginning to enter into the room he was held in, and every sound made him writhe in pain.

"Stop it!" he heard a voice that he knew he should recognize squeak out. "Can't you see it's hurting him?" Clint tried to pull away once again, and the voice continued in a low whisper. " _Stop it_. Goddamnit Clint. I'm trying to help you."

...  _Tony?_

The voices around him cut off and Clint stilled under the heavy weight over him. He couldn't think. He wished something would kill him, put him out of his misery, or give him enough morphine to send him into happy land for a long time. The pain reminded him of the time he'd sent a screw through his hand while building a platform, but this time it was a hundred thousand screws drilling into his cranium and it wouldn't stop.

His body shivered and he gave a small cry as his shoulder jerked at the sensation.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" he heard Tony hiss almost inaudibly, and Clint couldn't help it. He whimpered again and tried to bring his hands up to his head, but someone gently caught them.

"We don't know what will react in his system. The nutrients were enough of a risk," Banner said apologetically. When Clint winced, the man's voice dipped lower. "Can someone bring a laptop in here so we don't have to talk?'

Clint tried to curl up again, but was stopped again. The archer tried to remain still, because even _twitching_ doubled the pain, but he felt hyperaware of every noise and feeling around him. Even someone's small, light footfalls nearby made him flinch.

A hand gently ran over his hair, startling him at first. Someone was murmuring by his head in a low, soothing voice that was just deep and low enough not to make another lightning bolt pierce him. He couldn't understand the words, but he didn't need to. Clint shivered again - his body was confused he realized.  _Hot, cold. Hot, cold._ Either that, or the temperature was fluctuating to an insane degree.

"Sedatives?" Clint heard Natasha breath.

"No," Banner said, sounding miserable. "We can't risk it."

The hand continued to stroke gently over his hair, but a weight appeared at his throat after a few seconds. The soothing voice continued softly, and Clint tried to relax despite the overwhelming need to curl up and die. The pressure on his throat was steadily increasing. At first it was at a rate gentle enough to make Clint take no notice, but then he realized he couldn't breathe.

"Natasha, what the hell are you-" Tony's angry voice began, making Clint jerk.

He was bringing up his arms to start struggling again when he blissfully passed out.

* * *

Tony was breathing heavily, clutching his broken arm to his chest and seething at Natasha. Clint had hit it particularly hard and trying to hold down the struggling archer had aggravated his injuries. "Why'd you...the fuck!" She stared back at him cooly.

"The sedatives can't be given to him yet," she explained, like that settled everything. Bruce was just staring as was Steve who had just run into the room in time to see Natasha cut off Clint's air flow. "I didn't do any permanent damage."

Tony just sputtered, overcome by an irrational anger towards his teammate. "You..." he lunged out of his chair at her, falling on the floor with a crash.

"Tony!" He heard Steve's shout as Natasha nimbly sidestepped him before locking her arm around his neck and pulling him up off the floor. He then realized he had been on the receiving end of the same treatment Clint had just suffered.

* * *

When Tony woke up, he was in a darkened room on a bed again. Across from Clint. Good old Steve, he thought. He hoped he had chewed out Natasha. Tony ached all over, and the headache from the lack of air was not helping.

Clint shifted slightly, moaning.

"Clint?" Tony whispered very quietly.

Clint flinched and Tony instantly shut up.

"...Ton..." he whispered. Tony couldn't help it. A huge grin spread across his face and he lay his aching head back in relief, feeling the weight lifting off his shoulders.

"Clint...I hate you," he whispered, unable to keep the mirth and relief out of his voice.

There was a deep pained breath from across the room. "...same."

* * *

Clint awoke, feeling trapped as he opened his eyes to pitch darkness. His aching head still throbbed with each heartbeat, but he could think clearly this time.

It didn't help that he felt trapped.

"Clint," Tony sing-songed softly. "You awake?"

Clint grunted, still trying to figure out how to work his vocal cords. Tiredly, he raised a hand to touch his eyes and found a thick cloth wrapped around his head.

"You probably don't want to take that off, buddy," Tony laughed, sounding ridiculously cheerful as he spied on Clint from somewhere in the room. "Banner got tired of tripping over things in the room and just blindfolded you so he wouldn't end up sharing the room with us."

Clint made a noise that was partly inquisitive and partly accepting.

"I know, it's terrible right?" Tony said, probably waving a hand around. Clint blinked in confusion as Tony went off on some tangent. "I got stuck in  _here_ after I hit Natasha."

Clint made a strangled noise in response. "You…. what?"

"I. Hit. Natasha," Tony carefully enunciated each word as if  _Clint_  was the idiot in the room. "And she hit back."

Clint carefully imagined Banner directing the doctor as he stitched pieces of Tony back together. He had a feeling it hadn't happened quite like that.

"Did she Hulk out on you?" he asked carefully as he began to shake with laughter. After a few moments, his pained body couldn't take the extra moment and the laughter turned into a hoarse sob.

"Are you okay?" Tony asked carefully.

"I'm good," he tried to say, and he ignored Tony's snort of disbelief. "Why'd… you try to hit Natasha?"

"She told me the crystal broke," Tony admitted sheepishly, then he added, "Shit. I should not have said that."

"What did you say?" Clint asked, but Tony ignored him. " _Tony!_ "

"I'm going to turn off the lights so you can take off the blindfold," Tony said with forced cheer.

"Tony!" Clint snapped as he heard the light switch click on the other side of the room. Angrily, Clint ripped off the blindfold and winced as the small amount of light in the room jarred his headache to the forefront of his mind. "Tony," the word came out more as a plea than a demand this time.

A heavily bruised, but wholly intact, Tony Stark appeared at the side of Clint's bed as the archer winced at the light.

"Clint," Tony said with a sigh. "Look. It's not your fault, okay, and you don't have to go through with it if you don't feel like if you have to. We don't need the damned thing to function, so if you don't-"

"Tony," Clint whispered. "Stop screwing around and just spit it out."

Tony looked like a kicked puppy as he stared at the wincing archer. "Look, Clint," he said with a sigh. "It's not your fault, but the crystal's… sort of broken. It's attuned to you and well, frankly, if we plan to ever going to have it work for us again, you're going to need to hook up to it again."

"Tony, I don't-" Clint began as softly as he could.

"Goddamnit Clint," Tony snarled softly as the archer flinched again. "Don't you get it? Fury wants you to use the crystal again to deactivate it because it bonded to you."

If he wasn't agitated before, that certainly did the trick. His breath caught in his throat, bringing his current headache up to the next level as the memories of the pain he had felt over the past few days flooded into his mind. Every time he had woken up it had been to agony in its purest form, instantly driving him to a quivering mass of tears and desperate pleas for someone to just fucking shoot him. It had been a harrowing few days for everyone, and they were all exhausted from it by the time the worst was through. The first time he awoke to feeling like his head was only splitting in four pieces instead of six, it had been like a breath of smoggy air polluted with toxic waste, but at least he could breath. Now that he was down to his brain consistently feeling like it was in two places on opposite sides of the room, almost back to a human level of migraine control techniques, Fury wanted him to try the crystal again?

" _Nooooo_ ," he begged, his voice coming out as barely a whisper as he shook his aching head from side to side. "No, Tony,  _please._ "

God, was he crying again? He had probably cried more in this past week than he'd ever cried in his entire lifetime. He was such a wuss. But  _god_ it just hurt so damn much.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Tony whispered back, and it was awkwardly soothing considering it was coming from Stark. "You think I got beat up for no reason? Huh? I was very clear on the fact that you get to make the decision. If they try to force the issue I'll have to blind them with my boot flares, seeing as how I can't get my gauntlet on over my cast, but it  _is_ a tried and true method of attack. It worked on that cat, right?"

Clint let out an airy chuckle that ended with a breath hissed in between clenched teeth. "For like...five seconds..." he murmured softly once he was able to speak again.

"Yeah, well, sometimes five seconds is all you need."

Tony watched as Clint nodded, then seemed to sink back into his pillows as sleep took him again. Very gently, Stark placed the blindfold back around the archer's eyes, but didn't bother turning the lights on. He didn't want anyone wandering in to see the concern or the anger written all over his face. Actually, anger wasn't even the proper word for it. He was livid. Times all his billions.

Clint was still at a phase in his recovery where just the thought of food made him throw up, anything louder than a mumble was like having a gun going off next to his ears, and the soft glow of Tony's arc reactor was almost too much for the man to bare. How could anyone even  _consider_ asking him to use that crystal again?

If the thing was broken, let the damn thing stay broken. Then nobody could use it, and therefore nobody would want it. If nobody wanted it, it couldn't be used as a weapon. Done. The world could stay safe. It was just that simple.

The only thing Clint needed to worry about was getting better, and Tony would step in anyone's path that tried to say otherwise.

* * *

Fury sat with Steve, Thor, Natasha, and Bruce in the meeting room, Coulson standing behind him.

"Look, I don't like it anymore than you do, but I don't see that we have a choice," Fury was explaining.

"We  _don't_  have choice," Steve snapped. "Clint does. He's the  _only_  one who does."

Steve and Thor were equally as pissed off as Tony was about the news, with Banner doing his best to keep his own anger at bay. He could feel the stirrings of the monster inside him as Fury spoke, and if this kept up, he'd have to excuse himself from the room. As it stood, the only reason any of them were even willing to listen to the argument was because they didn't want to watch their whole team be torn apart by this incident.

"He'll say no," Natasha said quietly.

Thor leaned forward. "As would I. It would be madness to put him through that again."

"We almost lost him the first time," Banner pointed out.

"And we still could," Nick argued back.

Steve furled his brows. "What do you mean?"

Phil piped up from behind Fury. "Dom wasn't exactly thrilled about losing what he considered to be his rightful property. He let it slip to some of his more violent buddies that we have possession of the crystal."

"So?" Steve replied. "If someone comes after it, we stop them. What does that have to do with Clint?"

"The crystal doesn't work without Barton," Coulson continued. "They come after it, they come after him."

Fury spoke again. "Until his bond is broken with that thing, he's in danger. More so than usual. It's in his best interest to sever his connection with it."

With a sigh, Steve leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He looked to both Thor and Banner, both of whom gave him a slight nod, before he answered. "No," he said firmly. "Nobody even knows Clint's tied to it except for us-"

"And everyone in the lab," Natasha interrupted. "People talk. Maybe not on purpose, but things slip through the cracks. Someone will find out."

"And we'll stop them," the Captain bit out. "Just like we do with every other villain. Nothing's changed."

The meeting continued, this time with Steve pretty much laying out the new ground rules.

* * *

"What happened?" Tony asked, intercepting Steve as he moved down the hall towards Clint's room.

"I told them to bury it," the Captain answered.

Tony stopped walking. "What?"

"I told them to bury it. Put it back in the ground in a lock box somewhere as far away from here as possible."

"Which probably means they'll tuck it away on a shelf in some S.H.I.E.L.D. base in Antarctica or the Sahara Desert or somewhere ridiculous but possibly locatable," Tony argued. "If someone finds it-"

"Then it'll be a long time from now, and someone will send out an alert that it's missing before it even becomes an issue for us. It's the best we can do, Tony, and it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative."

Stark sucked in a breath to argue more, but realized Steve was right. The odds of someone tracking down the crystal weren't good, not when S.H.I.E.L.D. had a hold of it, and if it  _did_  happen, there'd be plenty of warning to enable them to keep Clint safe. Not that he really needed them to to play bodyguards. He could clearly handle himself; but still, they could watch his back a little closer if need be. It would be good enough, and yes, it was  _definitely_  better than the alternative.

Satisfied, Tony followed Steve into the darkened room where they both sat in protective silence over their friend, like stone sentries guarding their property. Thor joined them after a short time, followed by Banner who didn't even complain about the lack of light. A bit later, Natasha hesitantly stepped through the door, her face showing obvious relief when the boys didn't immediately kick her out.

"Fury's working on securing the crystal right now for transport," she whispered.

With a nod, they accepted the unsaid apology they could hear in her tone, and the silent request to help watch over their teammate. Until the cursed shard was gone for good, they had all just taken on the task of keeping Barton safe when he was unable to do so for himself.

And unbeknown to them, as each footfall into the room sent tiny little daggers into his skull, alerting Clint to each person's entry, he smiled past his pain just a tiny bit. They'd watch out for him, and he'd be okay soon enough, and then life as one of The Avengers could continue on as usual until he and Tony screwed themselves into another misadventure.

_And_  somebody else. He was keeping to at least that one thing on his list of "if I get out of this alive." He was never,  _ever_  going anywhere with Tony Stark alone ever again.

_**The End... for now!**_


End file.
